


Would You Be So Kind?

by theinvalidedsoldier



Series: Songs with Spideypool [2]
Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Christmas, Face Reveal, First Kiss, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Major Character Injury, Mild Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-01
Updated: 2018-09-01
Packaged: 2019-06-30 18:45:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,414
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15757542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theinvalidedsoldier/pseuds/theinvalidedsoldier
Summary: I sincerely apologise for the fact that I evidently don't know how Never Have I Ever works, I've written it as if it were truths from Truth or Dare. I'm just stupid, okay?Nonetheless, enjoy!





	Would You Be So Kind?

**Author's Note:**

> I sincerely apologise for the fact that I evidently don't know how Never Have I Ever works, I've written it as if it were truths from Truth or Dare. I'm just stupid, okay?
> 
> Nonetheless, enjoy!

_I have a question,_  
_It might seem strange._  
_How are your lungs?_  
_Are they in pain?_

 

   "No, no, no, no, no. Hold the phone Missus Magoo, it's  _my_ turn to ask  _you,_ " Wade spoke, his mouth filled to the brim with cheap taco fries. 

  His legs swung in harmony with Spidey's, who was draped next to him on Wade's tattered couch, the third Harry Potter film playing in the background. Never Have I Ever was admittedly not the best choice of game to play, considering that they -  _they_ , being Peter - had a secret identity to keep intact. He was only coerced into the game by Wade's promise to keep it strictly non-personal, but strictly sexual. Peter had sighed, completely resigned to his fate at that point.

  Peter snorted, holding his hands up, "Alright, alright. You go."

  There was a build-up, presumably when Wade was thinking of the life-defining sex question to ask the arachnid hero, followed by a sharp intake of breath. "Never Have I Ever been in love."

  Peter hadn't expected  _that._ Neither of them really did.

  "And I'm not talking a two-night stand type of diggerydoo," Wade clarified. "I mean the  _whole_ nine yards. Disappointing Valentine's Day sex, your heart beating out of your fucking chest, the  _frankly terrifying_ googly eyes. The whole puppy love schtick." There was then a snort from the merc, " _Ha. Love schtick."_

If Peter's hands were taking on a slight tremble as he threw back the shot of diet Mountain Dew - signifying that  _yes_ , he indeed had been in love - then Wade didn't comment, only taking to raising a masked brow through his expressive mask. Talking about Gwen wasn't a notion he was particularly fond of at that moment in time, or ever, so he silently prayed that the topic would be brushed past.

  "Well toot my horn, and call me Simon. I thought you were at least twelve, I mean if your voice is anything to go by. Imagine that, lil' Spidey-Poo in love, how pure." Wade was joking, obviously, but there was a slight deviation from the typically deviant and teasing tone. A hint of curiosity, subtly laden with something else that Peter couldn't quite identify.

  Peter flicked his hand dismissively and choked out a half-hearted laugh. "Yeah, well. I don't know, it was a long time ago. A long, long time ago," His voice trailed off towards the end, non-committal. "Suffice to say, it didn't end well. Let's um, let’s leave it at that."

  Knowing a lost cause when he saw one, Deadpool took to humming contentedly, seemingly accepting the change in topic. Peter's spandex-clad knees knocked with Wade's bulky knee-pads as he swivelled around in his seat. "Right, my turn again then." 

  Wade laughed, "Do your worst, baby boy."

  Wade as a whole, most liked to think, was pretty much an open book. He was the most morally and sexually ambiguous person Peter had ever come across and seemed to just breech over the line of unstable on the best of days. But then again, Peter knew as well as any unforthcoming superhero that general impressions could be all-too deceiving, no matter how well you thought you knew a person. A personal question was in the works, bubbling in the young man’s brilliant mind, as they had both well deviated from the  _'non-personal'_ rule at that point.

  "Have you ever loved someone with all of your heart, and they haven't loved you back?" 

  Complete silence. The type even Wade's humour couldn't hope to replenish. They locked eyes, masked eyes, the tension impenetrable. 

  "Yes."

 

 _'Cause mine are aching,_  
_Think I know why._  
_I kinda like it, though,_  
_You wanna try?_

 

Peter had been roughly torn from the sweet confines of sleep at three in the morning by none other than Tony Stark himself. It took Peter thirty seconds to actually wake up enough to hear the words, and another fifteen for the tangent to actually register.

  There had been another extraterrestrial attack smack-bang in the middle of New York, a lineup of robotic hellhounds wreaking havoc as they went. It took him another thirty seconds for the tired hero to question his life choices before he agreed to join the spontaneous Avengers team up. It wasn't all as glamorous as he had made it out to be.

  With no time to so much as brush his teeth, nevermind his hair, he stretched on his Spider-Man getup - with immense difficulty, and grabbed his phone in disarray, calling the one number he knew would ensure an easier fight for all. If not more hellish. The ling rung only three times, veering to four when it was answered with a chirpy greeting.

  "I'd pretend that I was asleep for anyone else, baby boy, but my insomniac ass is more than awake for you. Wassup, schnookums?" The disconcerting amount of pseudo-enthusiasm pretty much confirmed what Peter already knew, if the grogginess in the merc's voice was anything to go by, he had woken Wade up.

  "You down for a team-up right now? Right now being this very moment, the Avengers are in a panic in Central Park." A shriek was heard over the line, Peter pulled his ear back, taking the opportunity away from the phone to pull his mask over his messy mass of hair. "Awh shit, time for some guns a blazing. Fuck yeah, I'm in! What type of candy-ass do you take me for?"

  "Meet me on top of TD Bank on Colombus Avenue, near West 86th Street," Peter said, throwing open his window, preparing himself for an almighty jump. With that, he hung up and swung to the middle of Manhattan nearly half-asleep.

  When he arrived webs-a-flinging, there was sheer anarchy erupting within the radius of Central Park. Weird - and frankly sinister - amalgamations of robots and super hybrid wolf-dogs were pouncing on every living thing and attempting to rip its throat out with their hyperactive, razor-sharp teeth.

  From the rooftop near the scene of the crime(s), Peter gaped at the sight unfolding before him. It was a robotic monstrosity. "Jesus Christ." Two feet landed behind him, but his Spidey-Senses proved to be no hindrance to the large arms enveloping from behind him in a bone-crushing hug.

  "Be careful, Spidey-Poo. If you start calling down 'ol JC himself, he might actually listen. I doubt that dude's  _nearly_ as nice as people say he is," Wade rambled into his ear, Peter used a fractional proportion of his strength to shake the burly man off of him dismissively.

  "Shut up," Peter quipped, turning to face the elder. "We really need to get down there, you ready?" 

  A lecherous grin broke out behind the black and red mask, one that was ridden with unadulterated mischief and mayhem. "Always."

  After an exhausting four hours, three pulled muscles, multiple gashes, and countless near-deaths and close calls later; the Avengers (+ Deadpool, and an unofficial-member Peter) were ensuring the safety of citizens while simultaneously taking on the last rampant waves of evil dog dictators. All was going relatively smoothly, each robot getting a roundhouse kick, katana, or bullet to the head when they all suddenly increased in size ten-fold with ever-lengthening jaws gnashing rabidly. Whoever, or whatever was controlling the beasts were perfectly content on making the Avengers’ jobs as hard as physically possible. 

  Peter's lithe figure swung between the burning high-rise buildings expertly, webbing the mouths of the beasts shut from long range. There were only a few tens of the vicious fuckers left. Iron Man blasted the creatures by the dozen, whilst Hulk took to stamping through the rubble and kicking them like footballs. Black Widow was obscured from Peter's sight, he could only assume that she was with Hawkeye. Though he had no doubt that the fiery Russian could take care of herself.

  Unsurprisingly enough, another (kind of) hero was missing from Peter’s expansive line of vision. Wade. Somewhere along the way during the tiring battle of whims and limbs, DP himself had completely disappeared. Peter sincerely doubted that he had bailed, as the day Deadpool skipped out of a mission mid-fight would be the day the world ceased to exist, but nonetheless, his whereabouts were unknown. 

  Spider-Man didn’t have all too long to dwell on the location of his erratic mercenary friend, as a metallic jaw was being thrust into his face at an alarming rate.

  Caught off guard, Peter grappled aimlessly at the merciless bot, pushing its harsh form from his face. The robotic jaws clashed at Peter’s masked face, gnashing blindly at the air as Peter’s webs obscured its sight. He was saved minutely by a blast that came from above them, Peter looked up to see Tony hovering above him, arm raised and blasters poised.

  “You okay, kid?” Tony shouted above the ruckus, mindlessly shooting at another rabid dog as he half-heartedly awaited a response. Peter offered a weak thumbs up and kicked the pile of metal endoskeleton off his lap.

  “Yeah, I’m fine Mister Stark!” He rambled, getting to his feet. “Have you seen Deadpool? I lost sight of him about an hour ago.” If the iron clad philanthropist's sigh was anything to go by, he was just as frustrated as Peter seemed to be.

  "No, the bastard turned his comms off when Black Widow threatened to wrangle him if he didn't stop talking. I think he got the message, but we've now lost track of him so, I’m not sure if it's a good thing anymore. We need that bastard rogue in the city as much as we need these sadistic ex-Machina bots loose, not at all." There was a deafening crash from the general vicinity in the North, Iron Man gestured towards the dilemma and back, then settled for a meek salute.

  "I'd better get back to it, keep it up, kid. Stay safe." And with that, he flew off, leaving a disgruntled arachnid searching for a self-proclaimed anti-hero amongst a smoky, burning city. The area that Peter had been assigned to protect was now completely clear, devoid of any real danger or potential threat, seemingly at least.

  He was more than ready to zip off to somewhere else, as Peter noticed that even the Avengers weren't immune to typical human stubbornness and ridiculous insistence on self-dependence. They would never ask any of their other teammates to help out with the protection of their area unless it was strictly necessary, but he found that his help was always appreciated regardless. When he suddenly heard a loud groan and another deafening crash.

  His Spidey-Senses went haywire at the base of his spine, as he sifted through the rubble carefully to try and find the source of the noise. It was after a few minutes of sceptical searching when he arrived onto the scene of horrors. Deadpool himself, the man of honour, was sprawled out underneath a mass of rubble and fallen telephone wires. From afar, his body was shrouded by the chunks of stone and concrete, but a closer look revealed a much more gruesome sight to be seen.

  Wade's suit had been completely torn open at the clavicle down to the lower part of his stomach. Peter could only assume the only reason that the man wasn't yet up on his feet going off on a vulgar tangent was partly due to the gigantic shard of shrapnel jammed into his chest. Now  _that_ wasn't even remotely good.

  "Wade! Oh god, shit," Peter rambled, at his side in a number of seconds. Deadpool's regenerative powers were a thing of legend, Peter had seen him shake off broken ankles and bullet wounds as if they were nothing more than a paper cut. But Wade didn't look all that conscious to him at all, nor did it look like his body was making any considerable attempt to repair the damage. 

  At the risk of making anything catastrophically worse, Peter took to lifting up Wade's mask to his nose, not batting an eyelid at the heavily blemished and painful skin that lay beneath the confines of the leather and cloth getup. He put his ear to the merc's mouth, hoping that he would be met with an earful of warm and laboured breath, but to no avail. Wade wasn't breathing at all, and Peter didn't know what to do.

  “Wade, shit. God, I don’t know if you can hear me,” Peter rambled, taking long pauses in between each word, hoping for some reaction from the stagnant figure at his feet. “You need to start healing now, the joke’s over, it’s not even remotely funny.”

  And then he waited. He waited for as long and as patiently as any normal - _normal_ being a loose term - person could when surrounded by burning buildings, carcasses of rusty robots and crushed infrastructure. And then he couldn’t wait any longer. 

  Panic bubbled within Peter quickly, remarkably quickly. Especially quick for someone who he adamantly claimed, _‘wasn’t his friend’_. Nonetheless, he felt ill. Wade wasn’t healing, and it had been at least fifteen minutes.

  “Jesus Wade, please. I’m not messing around, this isn’t funny, please. Please wake up, come on. Come on!” 

  It took another fifteen minutes for Peter to start crying. It was something he rarely made a habit of, but what could he say? The situation called for some tears, as it felt like his heart was being ripped out through his throat. He sprawled himself across Deadpool’s broad chest, curling his own smaller arms around the bulky biceps of the dead mercenary, sobs wracking his body. All seemed lost, when.

  “You know, mouth to mouth probably would’ve worked. I can be Sleeping Beauty, or is that Snow White? Isn’t it both of them? Talk about necrophiliacs.”

  A gasp tore from the younger's throat as he immediately shot up from his position  _draped_ across his friend, cringing as he felt the tears sticking his mask to his face uncomfortably. "You asshole," Peter breathed out, rugged. "You absolute asshole."

  Something akin to relief, and pure euphoria tore through his body. Deep breaths, in and an out. The annoying, devilish menace that was his  _friend_ was going to be alright. He was most decidedly not dead. "Jesus Christ, don't do that. Don't do that again, I'm not joking."

  "If I pretend that I'm still dead, will you possibly reconsider some pucker el pucker resuscitation?" Obscene kissing noises were made from underneath him, and Peter was seriously fighting the urge to properly kill him this time around. Though, that was the way things were supposed to be. He was always at least mildly homicidal when in the company of one vulgar Wade Wilson.

  "Seriously though, sorry for scaring your cute patoot, but I'd really appreciate getting this spiky nugget out of my chest. If you'd be so kind," Wade rambled, gesturing towards the lump of scrap metal protruding still protruding from his chest. Peter had been far too afraid to even touch it in the fear that it would tarnish the healing process.

  "Oh my god, yes, of course. Sorry." 

  After a gruesome thirty seconds, Wade was sitting upright with the gaping hole and all. Which, Peter could say with an alarming amount of relief, was starting to sew itself closed accordingly. About time. They both sat back, hands pressed into the cracked tarmac, blocking out their surroundings. Silence, for once there was silence.

  "So," Wade started. "Adrenalin fueled make out session or no?"

  

 _Oh, would you be,_  
_So kind,_  
_As to fall in love with me, you see_  
_I'm trying._

 

Things between Peter and Wade were good. On the contrary, very good. 

  The pair had done a full three-sixty, a complete u-turn, and now whole-heartedly brandished the label of 'best friends'. Peter had originally insisted that the label wasn't necessary and that it was completely childish and cringe-worthy. But admittedly, after some questionable pet names and some coaxing, Peter warmed up to the idea. Now, it just sounded right. Peter and Wade. Spider-Man and Deadpool, best friends. 

  The stamp of validity on their friendship as best bros warmed Peter so much, that it didn't take all that long for him to realise that his feelings were  _much much_ more than that of a hetero in a platonic relationship with a hunky lunatic. It took one incident of a hooker fawning over Wade's arms, and an overtly interested pizza delivery boy for the oncoming storm of simultaneous realisation and jealousy to crash into Peter violently.  _Shit._ He was in love. He was absolutely, positively head over heels for his best friend. Brilliant.

  So Peter set out on a conquest, one of debatable intelligence. One that would determine his fate with the Merc with a Mouth himself. To figure out if he was destined to die alone with the unrequited love mellowing in his heart, or if his borderline obsession was reciprocated. Though, Peter thought, the latter was merely the work of fiction. As if.

  It was pretty much common knowledge to all who knew him, that Wade flirted with everyone, in and out of costume. Regardless of gender, general appearance or relationship to the targeted person, he would slip in endless masses of crude jokes laden with innuendos and brash confessions of love.

  True enough, that definitely meant that he was fickle. It also meant that Wade's infatuation with Peter's 'firm derriere' didn't technically make him special, but even Peter could notice that he was the person Deadpool voiced his attraction and lewd fantasies to most often. To the extent that it got tiresome. Whether or not Wade meant what he said was up for debate. Was it teasing? Or perhaps genuine lusting? Did either of them really know? 

  From that point on, any time Wade threw anything even remotely comparable to a compliment or flirtatious remark his way, Peter would respond with his own nonchalant one-liner. The first time he had done it, the look of absolute shock-horror on Wade's masked face was hilarious, unforgettable. Suddenly, they were flirting back and forth, a battle of the wits in the flirt fest of the century. 

  One day, whilst the two of them were doing their daily patrols, both of them saw the opportunity and took it accordingly. Peter was doing an array of gymnastics in the air, ones that he was  _definitely_ not doing for show, so he  _definitely_ would not impress his vulgar partner. They did what they were supposed to do, however, they elicited a reaction from Wade, who was watching the show shamelessly.

  "You better get that hot bendy bod over to me, Spidey-Boy. I can't take it. Hoo, Mama, I want to stretch those legs in such a way that would make the Devil blush," Wade catcalled from his place atop a large billboard. Peter grinned, eternally grateful for the mask that obscured his violent full-body blush from Wade's view.

  "Take me on a date first, DP, and then we'll see," Peter yelled, swinging off into the distance away from an utterly speechless Deadpool.

 

 _I know you know that I like you,_  
_But that's not enough._  
_So if you will,_  
_Please fall in love._

 

It was Christmas, a cherished time in the Parker household since he could remember. It was one of the only times when he could remember experiencing sheer unadulterated joy. It would course through him every time a Michael Bublé song came on, or at each whiff of cinnamon or chocolate. Bliss.

  Peter wanted to share that with Wade. He wanted to give him a Christmas that he would remember, one akin to those he would have with his family before Uncle Ben died. He would feel completely invincible, he would feel so happy, as though nothing in the world could possibly tarnish that. He wanted Wade to feel invincible, unwaveringly happy, if only for one night. He wanted Wade to feel like he had his own family at Christmas, even if it was pseudo. Because the man was lonely, and that just wouldn't do.

  He had brought it up as casually as he could muster, knowing that sincerity was something that could scare Wade off in a millisecond. It was veering closer and closer towards December 25th, and Deadpool had shown no inclination of actually having somewhere to spend the occasion. They had been sitting on a bench in some non-descript park, it never really mattered, so he brought it up.

  "Do you want to, maybe, spend Christmas with me this year?" 

  Wade had been mid-sentence, or at least he thought he had been when Peter had blurted it out in a flurry. And he had frozen, he didn't know what to do. He thought that possibly he had heard it completely wrong, or even imagined it. It wouldn't have been the first time that his head had conjured up something that wasn't congruent with reality. But he soon noticed that Spider-Man's posture looked unnervingly anxious and rigid, he seemed to be awaiting an answer.

   _Oh._

He attempted to laugh it off because of course, Peter would joke about something like that. Though Peter had never before. 

  "You, uh, that's very funny Spidey," Wade said, his tone indecipherable. He glanced at Spider-Man, who was making no attempt to backtrack on the supposed joke and made no attempt to bring it further.

  "I'm not- I'm not joking, I mean it." The sincerity in his voice was fear-inducing, Wade had never been good with feelings. And was even worse at expressing them, that was for sure. "I mean, if you have someone else to spend it with I completely understand-" Wade shot that down as quickly as he could breathe.

  "No!" Peter startled back, "No, I don't have anyone to uh, to spend Christmas with."

  There was a silence, unlike most of the silences that they rarely shared, this was one was awkward. Very awkward. "So?" Peter tried, stopping the sentence as soon as it had started.

  "Yeah. I would really fucking love to spend Christmas with you, Spidey."

  "It's Peter."

  "Peter."

 

 _I think it's only fair,_  
_There's gotta be some butterflies somewhere, wanna share?_  
_'Cause I like you,_  
_But that's not enough._

 

The invitation had been accepted, and Wade's surprise awaited. It awaited on an old couch, with its head in its hands, on Christmas Eve. Safe to say, Peter was shitting it. Completely nervous. 

  He had already revealed his name to the Merc, which he had found surprisingly easy to do in the first place, too easy. Wade already knew where he lived, as several Mario Kart tournaments and subsequent temper tantrums were had in the said couch. However, next on the agenda was his face. It wasn't the only present that he had planned to give his friend, his face, but it was most definitely something that he knew Wade would appreciate being shown immensely. Then again, Peter worried, what if he wasn't at all what Wade had imagined him to be? It was a dilemma.

  Wade was scheduled to arrive at Peter's apartment at ten o'clock, and the clock was glaring at him from its place on his mantlepiece threateningly. Only a half hour to go, and he was already a ball of impending anxiety and self-doubt. He really didn't need this now.

  A quaint Christmas tree was placed in the corner of the usually bare sitting room, brandishing baubles and tinsel of all shapes and colours. He had gone out and bought a large vat of Cadbury's hot chocolate powder, full-fat milk and cinnamon for the ritualistic potful of hot chocolate he would make every December 24th.

  Peter also couldn't cook for shit, which was quite the problem, when he knew Wade to have a stomach as big as his mouth.

  There was a frozen turkey laying on the countertop, defrosting almost tantalisingly slow, and some Yorkshire pudding ready to be microwaved. He knew it wasn't much, but he was running on a serious budget. And, once again, he didn't know how to cook. At all.

  Mid-freakout, his phone buzzed, and his heart leapt into his mouth. Was Wade calling to cancel? Had he abruptly changed his mind, and decided that Peter's ass just wasn't worth the fuss? Thankfully, no. It was his alarm. His alarm telling him that it was ten o'clock, Wade was due any minute.

  Before he had a chance to overthink himself to death as each minute in Wade's absence went by, there was a heavy knock at the door. He jumped, and then recovered, scrambling to the entryway in a blind panic. Huffing a deep breath of anticipation, maskless and bare and soon to be in front of his best friend in such a state for the first time, he opened the door. Peter heard a sharp gasp, he looked up.

  He met the maskless face of Wade Wilson, brown eyes meeting brown. He was even better than Peter had imagined. His jawline was prominent, but he had known that already from Wade's brief stint with death those few months ago. His eyes were round and his lashes were luscious, complimenting the Greek-like bone structure that his cheekbones showed off. And then there was the scarring, which he had barely registered upon setting his eyes on his face. It was harsh, and painful looking, but did little to hide the sheer beauty that was the face of Deadpool. Speaking of eyes, Wade's wouldn't avert itself from Peter's face, and he felt uncomfortable.

  Peter tried for a sheepish grin. "Hi," He said, looking the taller man up and down approvingly. "Surprise?" The nervousness was seeping into his voice now, and it was easily pointed out. After many more moments of uncomfortable silence - the silences between the two of them always seemed to be uncomfortable lately, especially when Peter was concerned - Wade uttered something only somewhat decipherable underneath his breath.

  "Holy shitballs." Was the eloquent remark. "Baby boy." He was verging on speechless. Which, when Wade was involved, was seldom a good thing.

  "That's not fair. You can't look like  _that,_ all adorable and shit. Fuck me, that's just breaking the rules, that face." Said face was starting to heat up rapidly, a blush licking its way down Peter's face. His smile widened. "Goddamnit, ain't this the best Christmas gift of the century."

  Peter stood aside, a light buzz flowing throughout, a buzz of excitement and contentment. "Come in, you idiot." He motioned to his couch, and the offer was taken with due joy. Wade burst in the door like an elated puppy, seeing Spide- _Petey's_ apartment in a new light. 

  Peter stood with his arms clasped behind his back, the nervousness returning slightly. "I wish I could say that I have some huge feast for your famished ass but uh, I can't exactly cook all that well. So I think a frozen turkey will have to do. Sorry," He rambled, not looking up. He suddenly felt a presence in front of him.

  "Don't you dare start undermining yourself, this is perfect." Wade's tone was only momentarily serious as he suddenly changed to perky once more, "Besides, I brought a shit ton of food for the occasion. What was I gonna do, let you starve? And luckily for your cute ass, your really fucking cute ass, I  _can_ cook." He held up a plastic bag, shaking it with a sudden ferocity. How had Peter not noticed that in his hands?

  "You really didn't have t-" His polite babble was interrupted. "Ah, ah, ah!" Wade's index finger motioned just in front of his lips, "Now move, I'm gonna cook up a shit storm. It'll be good, I promise."

  He walked into the kitchen, and picked up the bag of frozen Yorkshire puddings, regarding them with complete indifference. "Really, Pete? Are you  _trying_ to destroy Christmas?" 

  He dumped the contents of the bag onto the countertop, an array of vegetables and packaged goods falling out onto the marble surface. Potatoes, carrots, ham, turkey, cranberries, cream, doughnuts, ice-cream, he had gone all out. Peter didn't know if he should feel awful or not, especially since he was so _so_ happy.

  "Anything I can help with?" He enquired, wringing his hands nervously. It was a gesture he was becoming all too familiar with. Wade shook his head with a soft smile. "Nah, just stand there and look cute, that'll do." Peter scoffed, rolling his eyes.

  "I guess I'll make the hot chocolate then."

  After a few minutes, Peter had joined Wade in chopping up an array of different vegetables, much to his disapproval. He shamelessly would've admitted at that moment that he was having the time of his life, and the smile on both of their faces demonstrated that. It was bliss. Their shoulders rubbed together slightly as the duo chopped in unison, Wade babbling away about nothing and everything in particular. Peter had gotten slightly distracted, an accidentally brought the sharp knife down onto his finger. He yelped.

  Immediately, Wade dropped his own knife and turned towards the younger, who was sucking the cut in annoyance more than anything else. Concern was plastered all over his face, and he wrenched the digit of Peter's mouth, examining it with extreme caution.

  "Are you okay?" Wade asked, immediately wetting a cloth to wrap around Peter's finger. He laughed as Wade worked, this was the same man who had once asked Peter for a kiss after being impaled by a stray away piece of shrapnel. The same man who commented on the appearances of dead bodies scathingly as if they were still living. "Am I hurting you? Are you good?"  
  
  "I'm okay, I'm fine," Peter laughed again, clutching his sides as the gulps of hilarity wracked his body. Tears of joy sprung to his eyes, tears that just couldn't believe the barbarity of the situation. Deadpool, the ruthless mercenary, was nursing his tiny wound while cooking in his kitchen on Christmas Eve. He found that once he started laughing, he couldn't quite find it in him to stop, so he didn't. He only barely registered the eruption of deep chuckles that started to join his own until Wade's body started to shake next to his.

  Peter started to gasp, "You're so, silly." That only spurred the two of them on even more.

  It took another few rounds of stopping and starting again before the two slowly started to calm down, clearly, the oddity of the situation wasn't lost on Wade either. They fell into a silence, this was one comfortable. Peter started to catch his breath a bit more, falling back into a more rhythmic and steady pattern. Eye contact. Once their eyes met, they were interlocked, and neither of them dared to look anywhere else. Their breath was being held now. The room felt tiny.

  "Peter."

  "Wade."

  They both leaned in at the same time, it was almost as though gravity was pulling them close. A magnetic force of some kind, that desperately wanted them together. He took in a breath of air quickly, just before the scarred lips met his. And then they did, and Peter could've written a poem- scratch that, a book of poems about how it felt because  _wow._ Their lips were both a little dry, and the angle was cautionary and modest, but it was imperfectly amazing. Peter pulled back. "Wow."

  "Shit," Wade remarked, not much louder than a whisper. Peter snorted out a laugh. He closed the gap between them once again, initiating the kiss with more gusto, more fire.

  This time, there was more heat. The lips clashed together, passion seeping into each push and turn of the head. Peter could feel Wade's tongue pressing against his lips, and he opened his mouth accordingly. To say that their tongues battled for dominance would've been a cringe-inducing comment to make, as anyone knew that that term was used solely for crappy Wattpad fanfiction. But the analysis wasn't far off. Their tongues fought for each other perhaps, relieved itself of the pent up sexual frustration of months and months of wondering, perhaps.

  The dinner got made, in due time, as the impromptu make-out session pulled their schedule back for a good conspicuous hour or so. And it was delicious. Of course, it was, of course, Wade of all people was a culinary genius. And they sat together, intertwined and fast asleep on the couch, empty mugs of cinnamon sprinkled hot chocolate on the coffee table beside them. And it was perfect. It was Christmas, and they were invincible.

 

 _So if you will_  
_Please fall in love with me_


End file.
